A Moment in Time Read Online Free PDF Page A

from her worst nightmare.
           For a few blissful moments, she'd forgotten about her most recent act as a licensed, and somewhat misguided, beautician.   "Oh, no."   It was even worse–brighter–than she remembered.   With both hands, she pulled several strands forward and stared.   "God, it's really bad."
           "Well, I've seen better, that's for sure.   You are the strangest thing."   Dottie shook her head and sighed.   "Suit yourself, but considerin' what Rupert paid to bring you out here, I'd think you might want to look a little better when you meet him."
           "Paid?"   Jackie barked a derisive laugh and looked anxiously toward the men at the bar again.   No help there.   "Not even Donald Trump could pay me enough to make me come here on purpose."
           "Huh, well I don't know about this Donald Trump, but I reckon Rupert'll have somethin' to say about that, Miss Lolita Belle."
           Jackie's mouth fell open and the skin around her lips tingled.   A cold lump formed in the pit of her stomach and grew, spreading to her limbs before she managed to draw a deep enough breath to dispel the strange sensation.   She remembered the face in the portrait fading, then returning as her own.   Hallucination.   "Lolita...?"
           Slowly, as if her life depended on it, Jackie turned to face the bar again.   She blinked several times.   Nothing but a moose head hung where Lolita's risqué portrait had been.
           "Where...is...she?"   Jackie walked to the bar, ignoring the rude snickers from the grimy trio.   "What kind of sick game is this?"   She whirled to face Dottie again, holding her hands out to her sides in a silent plea.   "If you're in cahoots with Blade, I'm afraid you're too late.   He cleaned me out."
           Dottie threw her head back and laughed.   Loud.   "Blade?   What kind of name is that?"
           "Who are you?" Jackie repeated, tears stinging her gritty eyes.
           The doors to the saloon swung open and a short, stocky man strode in, a cigar clamped between his teeth.   "Well, who the devil are you? "
           Jackie met the man's critical gaze with far more bravado than she felt.   Mustering what remained of her dignity–now there was a word–she swallowed the lump in her throat and lifted her chin a notch.   For some reason, the weasly little man raised her hackles.   Maybe that was what she needed–a challenge.   Something to piss her off royally.
           His suit–or costume–looked expensive, though severely dated, with a flashy brocade vest.   A string tie adorned a white collar that appeared stiff enough to stand on its own in a hurricane.
           My gawd, he thinks he's Maverick.  
           "Well," he repeated, "are you going to tell me who you are, or make me guess?"
           "I asked first."   Jackie refused to allow her gaze to waver.
             He chuckled and shook his head, shifting the unlit cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other, then back again.   "Well, I'll be."   His expression grew serious and something resembling alarm registered in his small, dark eyes.   "Dottie, you don't suppose...?"
           Miss Dottie heaved a mournful sigh, obviously playing the martyr in this piece.   "Who else could she be?   I'll tell you one thing for sure–she's already a lot more trouble than she's worth."
           The man strolled purposefully toward Jackie, his gaze dipping to her T-shirt–no, through her T-shirt.   His ruddy face suddenly paled and deep wrinkles appeared on his brow, where a dark lock of silver-streaked hair fell across it like an exclamation point.
           "Well, I'll be damned," he muttered, rolling the cigar around in his mouth again.   His face darkened by several more degrees and his eyes snapped with obvious fury.   "I've been had.   Your handbills exaggerated your, uh, attributes.   At the very